Chapter Text
Free Use • Impact/Pain Play • Daddy/Mommy Kink • Dubcon/CNCbreeding • masturbation • harem
“Well, well, well,” a light voice cooed. “What have we here?” Boots came to a stop in front of Qui-gon and Satine, and then a hand lifted Qui-gon’s chin. A handsome young face - light hair only a shade or two off from red, and dark, wickedly smart blue eyes - studied Qui-gon intently, dimpling as the moments went by. “Master Jinn, it’s been a very long time.”
Qui-gon couldn’t hide his confusion. “I can’t say I’ve ever had the pleasure -?”
The dimpled young man shook his head, amusement deepening. “It was never a pleasure for you, Master,” he said mockingly. “Obi-wan Kenobi? The gutted and desperate little padawan-reject that Master Yoda sent to Bandomeer, in a bid to get you to care about anything other than your beloved Xana?”
“Obi-wan?” Qui-gon breathed, surprised. He realized guiltily that he hadn’t thought about the boy in nearly a decade.
Obi-wan seemed to read his thoughts, and smirked. “Just so. You left me for dead in one of Xanatos’ deep sea mines, with a bomb collar around my neck and Force suppression cuffs on my wrists. You didn’t even bother to look,” he snarled, before it melted back into that smug smile. “Thankfully, Jaster Mereel’s Haat’ade liberated the planet a few months later, and I was brought to Mandalore to recover. Adopted, cherished. Trained.” He held up a hand, and lightning crackled above his palm.
“Sith,” Qui-gon breathed.
The young man raised an eyebrow, condescending. “You know as well as I do that the Temple on Coruscant is not the only way to be a Jedi. And that not being a Jedi on Coruscant does not automatically make one a Sith. The Mando’ade have their own Force traditions. And I assure you, I have been very well trained.”
The lightning faded, and he smirked again and stood, ascending the steps to the throne, the rich fabrics of his clothes a stark contrast to the torn and dust-stained clothing worn by Qui-gon and Satine.
“What are you going to do with us?” Satine asked.
The young man turned and sat at the Mand’alor’s feet, where gloved fingers petted indulgently through his hair. “As Mand’alor Fett’s favorite consort, your fate is in my hands, Jinn,” he grinned, ignoring Satine altogether. He leaned into the petting like a favorite striil. “So you will be taken to Bandomeer, and a Jedi Council member summoned to fetch you. We both know how you like to ignore things that don’t make you look good, so the full account of your activities in Manda’lase, and my fate, will be related directly to them. I imagine the Council won’t take kindly to knowing that you and Satine attempted to subvert the legal actions of a sovereign non-Republic government.”
Qui-gon winced internally. Helping Satine had been a gamble, one that would have paid off big for the Republic if he’d managed it. Looks like he’d been out-played. “And Duchess Kryze?”
“Satine,” Mand’alor Fett’s low voice rasped through his helmet, “is the head of House Kryze, sworn by oath to uphold the Resol’nare and to serve the true Mand’alor.” He looked at her directly. “Mand’alor Mereel and I tolerated your father’s pacifism because he did not force it on the rest of his people. There is room for all ways of life under the Mythosaur banner, provided you leave the same room for others. But you attempted to bring the Republic in to subvert Mandalorian sovereign affairs, and to overthrow the duly-elected Mand’alor. And that is high treason.”
Satine paled.
“Also, Sati,” Obi-wan said lightly, “attempting to deny your people their religion, language, and history is considered cultural genocide under the Republic. And according to Republic law, we have the right to deal with you as we see fit.”
“You’re not going to kill her?!” Qui-gon started, struggling against the Force-suppression cuffs.
Both Mand’alor and consort watched him dispassionately.
“You should have considered her fate, and the potential consequences of failure, before you got involved, Jinn,” Mand’alor Fett said evenly.
“I told you he wouldn’t,” Obi-wan smirked.
There was a tug at his hair in reprimand, and he leaned his head against the Mand’alor’s knee in apology, still grinning.
“Tion’jetii’kad vaii?” he asked suddenly, looking around.
One of the guards held out Qui-gon’s lightsaber, and he felt a bundle of anxiety and fear well up as it floated out of the guard’s hand.
“A Jedi’s lightsaber is their right hand,” the consort murmured, using the Force to split the weapon into its component parts and separate the crystal. “And the crystal is a piece of their soul.” He floated Jinn’s crystal to him with a strange look on his face, and let it fall into his cuffed hand. Then he reassembled the now-useless hilt and gave it back to the guard, expression hardening. “The Council took mine from me without a backwards glance. Tell them I will not be so lenient again.”
The guards dragged Jinn to his feet and shoved him towards the exit.
“And now, Lady Kryze -” he heard the Mand’alor say, as the heavy door swing shut behind him.
He was almost grateful he could not access the Force in this moment, to hear her fate or feel her death.
“How do you feel?” Jango asked later. “Seeing him again?”
Obi-wan sprawled out in Jango’s big bed, luxuriating in silk sheets, and ran a hand down his body. “I barely knew him at the time.” He grinned, more at Jango’s reaction - stopping to watch him with dark eyes and hungry expression - than at the subject matter. “He is negligent, sloppy, and was attached to Xanatos in a way the Council dislikes their knights to be. He certainly wasn’t my first choice. I can’t imagine what possessed Yoda to think we were a good fit. If he were Mando’ad he’d have never been allowed to take another hibir.”
“I still can’t believe he didn’t even look for you, an adika supposedly under his protection,” Jango grumbled, folding his pants and tossing them in a chair.
“Apparently Xana told him I was dead,” Obi-wan shrugged, as Jango, finally naked, prowled up the bed. Obi-wan widened his thighs and grinned, welcoming Jango between them. “And everyone in the Temple knew Jinn ignored what he thought irrelevant.”
He ran a hand into his Mand’alor’s curls as Jango kissed his thighs.
“His loss is my gain,” Jango hummed, leaving kisses and love bites against pale skin. He nipped down near a knee especially hard, making Obi-wan flinch, and raised an eyebrow. “My ‘favorite consort’?”
Obi-wan grinned. “Oh, don’t you know, darling? The Republic thinks you keep a harem. That all those people who’ve found places in your new government have gotten there because you bedded them.”
Jango grunted unhappily and went back to kissing his thighs. “Just because it’s the Republic’s favorite method doesn’t mean it’s a viable way of running a government.”
Obi-wan laughed. “The Republic’s idiocy is Mandalore’s gain,” he parroted, still playing with Jango’s curls. “Letting Jinn sweat Satine’s fate for a while is a good thing, though. I know Silas will tell the Council member the truth, but letting Jinn get a taste of potential consequences… I hope it plays out the way that you expect.”
Jango shrugged, coincidentally shrugging one of Obi-wan’s thighs over his shoulder. “Men like that keep going until consequences smack them back,” he murmured, shifting Obi-wan’s hips where he wanted them, and kissing higher inside his thigh. “Unfortunately, it’s usually other people who pay the price.”
He ran his tongue against someplace sensitive, and Obi-wan let his head flop back with a gasp.
Consequences could be beautiful things.
